The arena.
There are people in the arena.
And there are people in the stands.
The people in the stands always seem to have a lot to say about what the people in the arena should have done differently.
They should have known better.
They should have tried harder.
They should have left sooner.
They should have stayed.
It's easy to see a stumble when you aren't the one covered in dust.
Theodore Roosevelt once said the credit belongs to the person who is actually in the arena. The one who gets it wrong. Comes up short. Tries again.
The one willing to dare greatly without knowing how it will turn out.
There are seasons when you need those words.
Get back up.
Try again.
Keep going.
Learn something from what didn't work.
You learn that getting something wrong doesn't always mean you were wrong to try.
After a while, you can get pretty good at getting back up.
So good that you might not notice when nobody is asking you to.
Because seasons have a funny way of changing without announcing themselves.
One day you're just making dinner.
Sitting on the couch.
Walking through a house that was collected slowly, one ordinary thing at a time.
Someone you love is asking you to come sit down.
Nothing extraordinary is happening.
Maybe that's why it's so easy to miss.
We spend so much time waiting for the big things to tell us where we are.
The accomplishment.
The ending.
The beginning.
The thing we finally got right.
But sometimes a season changes quietly.
There isn't a finish line.
There is just a moment when you look around and realize you aren't trying to get through this day.
You're in it.
Maybe there are seasons for getting back up.
And seasons for looking around.
For noticing the things that once would have felt impossible have somehow become ordinary.
For letting an ordinary day be enough without waiting for it to become something else.
The arena will still be there.
There will be more dust. More mistakes. More reasons to get back up.
But right now?
Maybe this is what you kept getting back up for.
